


Lateralus

by feralfrenzy



Category: Death Stranding (Video Games)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Character Study, Gen, One Shot, higgs has a problem with viewing the women he loves in his life as saintly figures maybe, past higgs/fragile but it's very gen and emotionally charged
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27588362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feralfrenzy/pseuds/feralfrenzy
Summary: This isn’t supposed to happen. He’s supposed to take death with dignity, killed for revenge in the wake of the extinction. It’s all set in stone, just like the prized hieroglyphs he has back in his bunker. Because Higgs is the stone and the chisel. He’s the writing on the wall, the herald of the end of days.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	Lateralus

**Author's Note:**

> this was done for fun in a few hours so.............enjoy!

A memory from years past - a delivery with Fragile. Sharing a Timefall Shelter waiting for the rain to pass. It was before they became partners, then; just two porters who ran into each other often enough that they enjoyed one another’s company. He sat, inching closer to her as the night went on, jokingly chiding himself about a fall he had taken that had roughed up some cargo he was transporting to Middle Knot.

_‘You need a gentle touch_ ,’ She had hummed then, running her thumb against his cheekbone. A bruise was blooming there, but the feeling didn’t hurt. He had leaned into it even, savoring the sensation of someone touching him in the pursuit of anything besides violence. She had smiled, eyes crinkling genuinely. ‘ _Anything worth something to someone is fragile.’_

And that’s what she had made him feel, hadn’t she? Worth something. She held his face so tenderly it birthed a new man into the universe. She gave him life and existed in everything he did henceforth, just like that goddamned particle he named himself after. But, Fragile - she was the real deal. No fool’s gold or emperor’s clothes, just natural DOOMS talent and a knack for connecting people. Fragile, but not that fragile, even though she had a penchant for making him feel like glass in her hands. 

Amelie, on the other hand, made him feel like teeth. 

He supposes he had had the wrong angel of death all along. So close, yet so far - the Higgs Monaghan tried and true classic. Fragile _was_ his angel - and sin and sinner alike; she had delivered him. 

She had held his face like that again on Amelie’s beach, cradling him like a child before she broke his nose. And like a child he wanted to cry, throw a tantrum. He wanted to scream “No!” and dig in his heels because he wasn’t getting what he wanted. Because that’s what he had been doing his entire life. Raging against nothing for nothing - screaming into the universe for no reason because he had no reason. But children have to grow up eventually, and his act was getting old.

Fragile jumps him quickly once Sam leaves for Amelie, their bodies and souls falling in line like an old forgotten routine. A muscle memory, and it’s a rush of nostalgia that shocks his nearly-comatose, beaten system as he’s dropped unceremoniously onto a stretch of unfamiliar coast. 

For once in his entire life, he’s speechless. He feels like a fish who crawled onto the beach, only to look into the face of the God that gave it legs. Now, Fragile looks like glass, holding herself with so much tension he feels like she could shatter at any moment. In her aged hand, her knuckles are white as she grips the assault rifle. He understands instantly - and shifts momentum, a different mask for a different occasion. 

But Higgs isn’t like Sam, and nothing like the rest of those Bridges dipshits. He isn’t going to beg and struggle for his life. He’s gonna take it like a man. Death doesn’t scare him - he’s died plenty of times and all of them have felt the same. The lack of repatriation just means he won’t have to do this overhyped dog-and-pony-show again. For him, it’s a win-win. 

Either way, Higgs comes out on top.

He waits, listening only to the lap of the waves and his labored breath. A moment, then another. When it stretches too long for his liking, he snarls: “ _Just fucking get it over with!_ ” 

His voice cracks halfway through, snapping like bone. A betrayal of his own body in the face of his enemy. 

Eventually, Fragile takes a breath like a drowning man coming up for air, and she places the gun carefully on the rocks.

“You can have the dignity to die on your own beach,” She breathes, then. “If you choose.”

His face drops for a moment, processing her intent, calculating.

This isn’t supposed to happen. He’s supposed to take death with dignity, killed for revenge in the wake of the extinction. It’s all set in stone, just like the prized hieroglyphs he has back in his bunker. Because Higgs is the stone and the chisel. He’s the writing on the wall, the herald of the end of days. He screams at her until his throat is raw, struggling at the strand holding him but it only results in sharp stones finding place in his fresh face wounds. 

Fragile watches,seemingly nonplussed, closed umbrella perched over her shoulder. She learned long ago that he runs out of steam eventually. So she waits.

Soon now, there’s no more fiery ichor left in him, just the droning rush of blood in his ears from Sam bashing their skulls together. His mouth feels full of cotton and his throat pin-hole-thin. He doesn’t even struggle against his bonds, just watches Fragile with wide blue eyes. 

“I know you don’t understand right now, but I hope you one day do.” She says, and runs a gloved hand against his forehead, tucking away his tar-soaked bangs. She closes her eyes and breathes out, “Either way, it’s up to you what you choose. I’m not responsible for packages after they’ve arrived at their intended destination.” 

The umbrella pops open, and it sounds an awful lot like an ending.“Goodbye, Higgs.” 

_He croaks out: “Fragile.”_ And like that, she’s gone. 

Higgs is alone, like he’s always been. 

\----

Every beach is different. Personalized, or so they say. Higgs hadn’t seen his before - only the cold expanse of the seam during his short moments on the other side. He had hoped for gold, riches - a great pyramid cut from stone and brick to rest his Ka like the pharaohs who ruled before him. But pharaohs were buried with their possessions - not dropped on the beach like discarded cargo. 

Higgs has nothing, so his beach is fitting. No tomb, no servants, no pizza.

Admittedly, he should have prepared better. 

It still pisses him the hell off. 

Time moves slowly on the beach. It’s mind-numbing. He walks for ages with the dull momentum of his footsteps serving as the backdrop to his thoughts.

Eventually, among the beached bodies and sand, he finally finds something.

It looks like a BT, but the chiralium shimmers differently from the gawkers he’s used to. A masculine form splayed on the ground, immobile, and despite being a formless, featureless being made of tar - Higgs recognizes it instantly. Something sculpted from the beach to make it a fit for him, a last housewarming gift from Amelie. The false body is slumped over, uneven, and it’s hands are frozen in time desperately clawing at the pebbles for purchase. Even if dear old Daddy had exploded into antimatter, a piece of him was still on Higgs’ beach it seems. A memory of a memory, a corpse of a corpse. Higgs breathes out hard through his nose, and when he closes his eyes, the rifle mimics the weight of the kitchen knife perfectly. 

He lies down next to it - back to back, curled up on himself just like he did back then. He feels like a fucking baby. Back to the start, he supposes, although maybe not the one he had hoped for. He remembers his first visit to the seam vividly - the darkness, the cold, the sheen of gold glimmering in the depths. He remembers staring down at his drowned body and thinking: _This feels right._ _This is supposed to happen._ A rebirth, a new path, a new identity. Although he didn't find his new name until much later, he knew then that he wasn't Peter. Not anymore.

Back to the start...

Except there's no grand extinction event for him. He doesn’t get to hold Amelie while he beats his chest like King Kong on top of the Empire State building. He doesn’t get to watch as this worthless world turns to ash, proclaiming he’s won all the while. Because tools don't win, because despite everything - Higgs is still a delivery man. Doesn't matter if the cargo is mail or a new world order. He's no pharaoh, no Sam Porter Bridges, and certainly not an EE. He’s Higgs, the particle of an uncaring God. A speck of dust that shouldn’t have lived only to go on and taint everything in this broken fucking universe. 

He gets what he always deserved - sand, and mud, and tar. He came from the dirt, and now he has to swallow it. 

He sleeps. 

He sleeps for a lifetime. 


End file.
